When Raccoons Fall From the Sky
by AmberTheCritic
Summary: So that's the title I'm sticking with, huh? Very well then. I have an OC in this (*and there was much rejoicing*) and a lot isn't explained because I'm starting in the middle of a lot of stuff. I hope it's enjoyable and as comprehensible as possible. (Also, I learned how to add notes about the story *after* posting the first chapter. So I'll be sure to do that from the second on).
1. Chapter 1

"Checkmate," Bruce stated, setting down his pawn.

"What?! You're kidding me!" Liz exclaimed, searching the board for an escape, "How the hell did you put me in check with a pawn?!"

Bruce shrugged, "I don't recall. But here we are."

Liz growled, then tipped over her king in defeat, "I hate this game."

"That's reasonable, considering you keep losing," he said, doing nothing to hide the satisfied smirk, "Want to play again?"

"Of course not!" she shouted, lying back on her bed with a huff.

Bruce folded the chess board and sat beside her, "Anything else you'd like to do?"

She scoffed, "I want to get out of this stupid bed and train so I can go back to kicking the sense out of psychopaths."

He grinned, "Sorry, but I don't think I can deliver on that." His eyes drifted down her body for a moment, "How's the rehab going?"

"Fine," she answered bluntly.

Bruce kept his smile tolerantly, "Alright… now answer me as a patient, not a passerby."

Liz sighed, "… It's fine. I just want it over with."

"Are you still in a lot of pain?"

"Sometimes."

He raised an eyebrow, "Meaning?"

She crossed her arms, "Meaning sometimes. I can handle more than they think, though. Just walking around isn't going to help anything fast enough."

Bruce shrugged, "Well then maybe you don't need to be concerned about healing "fast enough." Maybe healing fully is a little more important." He stood, "Don't try to rush things, Elizabeth. Or you'll have to go through this all over again."

"Hell knows I don't want that," she muttered.

He looked about ready to continue the argument, but the sound of commotion suddenly broke out beyond the room's door.

Liz sat up, "What the…?"

Bruce wasted no time, opening the door and disappearing down the hallway. Liz quickly threw her legs over the side of the bed to follow him, pausing briefly to quell the protest of her ribs. She took in a breath, locked her jaw, rocked to her feet, then rushed after Bruce.

Agents were rushing to the upper deck in swarms, most heavily armed and frantic. She was able to meet up with Bruce amidst the chaos, and the two followed the crowd up to the open flight deck, where quite a sight was unfolding.

Two heavy-duty SHIELD helicopters lowered a colorful heap of wreckage onto the deck, loose scraps snapping from their wiring and flying off in the wind. It was unceremoniously released and dropped, erupting in a series of piercing scrapes, accompanied by a shockwave that made the ground rumble beneath them.

Liz cast Bruce a sideways glance, and caught one of his own.

"Lay low," he cautioned, "Before anyone realizes we shouldn't be here."

She nodded, glad they had come up with similar plans of action. After another quick facial cue the two split up, careful to stay at the back of the crowd, but Liz inched forward into an opening, watching Fury.

He stood at the front, solemnly observing the process. He was approached by Coulson, and Liz strained to make out their conversation.

"…in the middle of the desert, near the Nevada border," Coulson informed, "Which makes me wonder how much longer our luck will last, before one of these falls in the middle of a major city."

Fury didn't crack a smile, "What do you know about it?"

"Well sir, it's a smaller craft—in fairly good shape, despite its crash landing." Coulson gestured to the left underside of the mess, "We believe the burns there indicate it was fired on, resulting in the crash. It was still sparking when we made it to the scene, so it most likely remains functional."

"What about the pilot?" Fury immediately questioned.

Coulson paused,"… We didn't find any sign of movement inside. But—"

"So you're telling me you didn't check?" Fury cut in.

"Not as of yet."

Fury turned away to face the craft once more, "It's a little late for precautions now then, isn't it?" He nodded, signaling to a row of agents who instantly surrounded the wreckage. They held guns at the ready, their strides gradually shrinking until they merely inched towards it, obviously worried about what if anything lay inside.

One stepped forward cautiously, a crowbar in hand. She approached a giant slab of metal which Liz assumed used to be the door, and slipped the crowbar into one of the slits on the side. After a decent struggle, little to no progress was made, so another agent stepped in to assist her. It was then, his attention diverted for a moment, that Coulson spotted Liz in the crowd. Her blood went cold, and she smiled nervously, her mind rushing to think up the excuse she'd use when he confronted her.

Before either could make a move, the remains of the door snapped from its hinges and fell with a metallic bang, revealing a dark and demolished cabin within. Smoke still hazed about inside, briefly interrupted by the bright fizz of broken wires, but no further sound was heard.

The agents looked to Fury for direction, and received the command to advance. Two more agents, these holding slender black rods, lead the group forward. For a moment, only the sound of boots-on-metal was heard, seemingly fluid and unfaltering.

Coulson let out a slow breath, then looked back to Fury, "I didn't think anything would have been able to survive a crash like—"

A scream burst forth, and like a gunshot, an agent was sent flying out the craft, engulfed in a bluish wave of electricity. Several rushed forward to help him, but only seconds later another flew out in a similar manner, landing on top of the first agent.

Fury stepped back in surprise, then looked in confusion at the craft, "What the hell is going on in there?!"

From inside, an agent began to reply, but his voice was quickly drowned out by a horrible sound, something halfway between a snarl and a hiss, followed by commotion between the agents. Liz's eyes broke away for a second to search for Bruce, but couldn't spot him in the crowd. While she was telling herself she wouldn't blame him in the slightest if he'd slipped away after seeing the airborne agents, another shrill howl erupted, this time accompanied by the sound of surging electricity.

Suddenly, a shape darted out of the cabin, then zipped down the runway at a blinding speed. Fury drew his pistol and fired several rounds in quick succession, but each missed its mark, bouncing off the ground.

Liz slipped through the awestruck crowd, then immediately pressed into a sprint, "I got it, Fury!"

She was sure she heard him protest, but didn't turn to check how angrily he'd yelled it. Instead, she ran after the blur (ignoring the protests of her knee), still unable to make out a definite shape. It was dark in color, significantly smaller (and faster) than her, and showed no signs of slowing down. Before she could come up with a strategy to corner it, the thing suddenly stopped, and unable to halt as quickly, Liz passed it. By the time she'd realized the trick, it was running in the opposite direction.

"Damn it!" she growled, and began pursuing it once again.

Just as she began to doubt she'd be able to catch the speeding creature, it made a mistake—it was heading straight for the edge of the helicarrier. She increased her pace, already out of breath, preparing to confront it before it realized it was cornered.

Sure enough, the moment it reached the edge, the thing halted dead in its tracks. Liz was about to take a dive to tackle it—but froze in shock only a few feet away. She looked the creature up and down to try and prove her initial thoughts wrong, with no success.

It was only a few feet tall, with gray and black fur. It had pointed ears and a long, ringed tail. It stood upright and was dressed in a dirtied orange space suit. Then it talked.

"… Well, shit, " he muttered, staring down at the ground thousands of feet below, "This didn't really work out the way I was thinkin' it would." He glanced over his shoulder to create another plan, and caught Liz's wide-eyed expression. He made a face, "What are you lookin' at?"

By now, she was just about ready to walk away and pretend she hadn't seen it.

"You…" she began breathlessly, "Are a talking… raccoon."

His ears flattened instantly, and he snarled, "_I am not a mother—" _His voice was momentarily drowned out as he pulled out and cocked an odd looking gun, "_—ing raccoon!"_

Seeing as he was (quite heavily) armed, Liz tried to regain her senses and cough up an apology, but he'd already pulled the trigger. She dropped to the ground as the blast of energy flew overhead, then rolled to the side when she figured out he was still firing at her. After a few seconds of this, she was able to rise to her knees, and took the slim opportunity to knock the raccoon off his feet with a sweeping kick. The gun slipped from his grasp on impact, and he scrambled to regain it. Liz leapt forward and pinned him down with an arm, receiving a threatening hiss in protest.

"No you don't," she warned, though not eager to sink all her weight into the small creature. In retaliation, he reared back and clawed at her face, causing her to falter and release her hold. He made another grab for his gun, but Liz snatched up his tail, yanking him back within her reach. She wrapped an arm around his middle, pulled him to her chest, then slipped the other arm beneath his throat.

"Hey!" he yowled, squirming violently to free himself, "Hands off!"

She strained to get a grip on him, "What, so you can try to shoot me again?" After a minute, she mumbled tensely, "I'm talking to a raccoon…"

"_I told you I'm not a raccoon, you damn moron!" _he bellowed directly in her ear, clawing feverously to find a part of her to bite, _"Been on this planet for an hour and already I'm sick to death of the damn idiot population!"_

Liz tightened the arm at his throat, no longer holding back, "Just calm down. I don't want to hurt you."

"—You say as you're pinning me to the ground," he snapped, "Oh, and by the way, your friends are doing a bang-up job of helping you out. "

She scowled, seeing he was right.

"Tell me about it," she agreed lowly.

After several more frantic seconds trying to hold him back, agents rushed over to her, instructing her to keep him still.

"What the heck do you think I've been trying to do?" she spat, but bit back the rest, wanting to get rid of the writhing creature as soon as possible. One of the agents extended a long black rod towards his head, a thin translucent loop at the end.

"Can you try to get this around his neck?" the agent asked her.

Liz struggled to keep her hold on him, both arms occupied, "No, not really."

She heard him grumble in annoyance, but could care less. The not-raccoon tried desperately to escape the binding, but was eventually forced to submit, and the loop was lowered over his head.

"Because this is a fair fight," he muttered, loud enough for Liz to catch it.

She replied on the same level, "You fired on me when it was obvious I didn't have any weapons. You weren't fair, so I don't feel the need to be, either."

He let out a short breath, "Bitch."

Another loop was lowered in the same manner, falling down to his neck and tightening slightly. On command, Liz slid out, allowing the first loop to lower around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides. He fought nonetheless, especially once Liz removed her arms and stood, though his resistance had little effect.

"Remain still," an agent commanded loudly, "Or we'll be forced to retain you."

He scoffed, unaffected, "That line didn't work on me the first time—what chance do you have?"

In retaliation, the two agents hit a switch on the end of their rods; the previously clear loops flowed with electricity, making him cried out in pain and surprise, falling to a knee. The torment continued for a second longer before the flow was stopped.

He drew long, heavy breaths, his head lowered in defeat.

"Yeah… that'll about do it," he panted, unwillingly accepting surrender.

Fury arrived a few moments later, looking the creature up and down. For a moment, he caught Liz's gaze as if expecting an explanation. She only shrugged, confused as he was.

"… Take it down to Containment Level B," he ordered, "The rest of you, secure the craft below deck in the upper hangar."

As agents set off to fulfill their orders, Bruce approached Liz, nudging her arm when she didn't turn.

"You alright?" he asked, breaking her from her trance.

She jumped slightly, "What?" After a second, she stammered, "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Rubbing her forearm (which she discovered was now littered in claw-marks), she glanced back at the strange animal, who was practically being dragged along by the SHIELD agents. For a second, he glared at her loathingly, then lowered his head again, making no effort to keep up his pace. Liz didn't remove her gaze, still in disbelief.

"What in the world was that thing?" she whispered to herself.


	2. Chapter 2

_Okay, this time I figured out how to write a note at the beginning. Excellent. I suppose I should point out first and foremost that every once in a while, a DC character will pop up. Yes, that should put this in "crossover" land. But they're so few and sparingly, and seem to live in the Marvel world, anyway. Also, I should explain Liz: she's been a SHIELD agent for about a year, and is currently not on a mission because of her injuries (which were inflicted by a certain sadistic DC villain). And, as it will be further established, she's not too happy with her work. _

_*Also, her hero alias is Shadow Cat, and YES. I KNOW THAT"S ALREADY A CHARACTER (Kitty Pryde). I found that out a while after I made the name, but got too attached to change it. And, well technically, Kitty is Shadowcat. Liz is Shadow Cat. As if that's a reasonable difference. _

_Well enough of that- please enjoy. _

After a few hours, the commotion had died down, so Liz snuck down to the containment deck, which was oddly empty. She passed the industrially labeled metal doors until she came to the one marked "Level 1B," over which a yellow light blinked lazily. When it didn't reject her access code she took a slow breath, then set off down the extra flights of stairs that awaited her.

By the time she reached the actual prison cells, her knee was scorching like Hades, while her ribs strangled her into submission. Sure no one would see it, she stooped down, breathing heavily.

"Can't handle the stairs, blondie?"

Recognizing the voice, she didn't bother fabricating an excuse; she let out another growling breath and without looking at the cell it came from, muttered, "Shut up, Wade."

He cackled, "Oh, I'm just messing with you. I know how it feels, injuries and stuff— oh wait, no I don't. Superhuman healing and all… never mind. Yeah, have fun with that, sucker."

Liz glared at him, "Go shoot yourself."

He put his hands to his chest as if offended, "Yeesh, that's a little cold."

She shrugged, "Not really—superhuman healing and all."

"Ohoho… good one." He clicked his tongue flirtatiously, "Nice talking with you, sweetness."

"Goodbye, Wade," she replied bluntly, stuffing her hands in her pockets and stalking away without another word.

Eventually, she spotted Coulson, slouching in a chair in front of one of the cells. His coat was discarded behind him and his arms were loosely crossed, making Liz assume he was attempting—and failing—an interrogation.

Ignoring his frustration, she smirked and taunted, "Having fun?"

He turned slightly, looking unamused, "You know you shouldn't have interfered today, Miss Rachels. This was an agent-exclusive situation—"

"Oh come on, I'm an agent too," she argued.

"You know that's not what I meant," he replied a little shortly.

She let her smirk drop into a passive smile, "I know, I wanted to mess with you, anyways." Liz glanced over to the prison cell's transparent front wall, immediately meeting the raccoon's harsh glare. Her cocky expression quickly returned, and she added in a baiting tone, "Besides, we wouldn't want our little headache to have escaped, would we?"

His ears flattened, and he promptly flipped her off. Now she knew he could hear them.

She only crossed her arms, continuing to smirk, "Speaking of which, have you found out anything about him, yet?"

Coulson gave her a seemingly skeptical look, "Now Miss Rachels, you know you haven't been granted access to that information…" While he spoke, his eyes darted back towards a table, so Liz followed the gesture and walked over to it. Strewn across it were several papers, underneath which a manila file was hidden.

Liz grinned, "See, this is why I like you a lot better than Fury."

He had turned away, but she knew he was smiling, too.

She sat against the table, scanning the few filled forms within: _… blood tests proved inconclusive, matching no known animal or other recorded specimen… does not match the DNA of a common raccoon, which the subject most closely resembles..."_

"Huh. Guess he was right about not being a raccoon," she muttered to herself.

"Figure that out on your own, did'ja?" he snapped. Liz's eyes flew up quickly, surprised he'd heard her. She glanced over at Coulson for an explanation, but he only shrugged.

She continued to read: _capable of speaking fluent English, capable of operating a firearm, unwilling to disclose information, easily provoked, high tendency to bite when threatened…_

When nothing further was established, Liz scoffed, "Pretty extensive, huh?"

"As you can see, we haven't been successful obtaining anything more than the obvious," he replied lowly, "Attempts to communicate end with him either ignoring or threatening us."

"How'd you get the blood sample?"

"We got lucky," he answered, "And it only came with more of ours." He flashed her one of his previously hidden hands, which she now saw was covered with claw marks.

Liz nodded, "Yeah, I got in on some of that action." She swept a finger across her cheek, then her arm, "He did a pretty good job of ripping off as much skin as possible."

From the cell, he snickered, "Good, that was the idea."

Her glare flew back to him, "I wasn't talking to you, whiskers."

He returned the glare, "Watch it, princess. There's plenty left of you to shred into ribbons."

Liz crossed her arms, approaching the prison, "And how do you plan to do that, exactly?" She rapped on the barrier with a knuckle, "This might pose a problem."

The raccoon imitated her in a whining tone, then snarled, "I've gotten out of worse than a glass box—this won't be a challenge."

Someone tapped her shoulder, so she turned; Coulson had collected his coat and held out the file to her.

"I'd appreciate it if you record anything you find out." Before she could protest, he was halfway to the door. "Have fun."

She let out a long breath, then turned back to face her opponent.

He continued to snicker, "Sucker. He was looking for a chance to run since you got here."

"Shut up," she said shortly.

"Well _you're_ all a bunch of bastards—I was starting to feel left out," he replied.

"No, not all of us," she argued, "The vast majority, but not all." She nodded in the direction Coulson had left, "He's the nicest, but you lost your chance with him—you get to put up with me, now."

"Oho… I'm _so _intimidated!" The sarcasm in his voice was painfully blatant.

She frowned, "Well, maybe we wouldn't have to be such bastards if you weren't, either."

He crossed his arms in suit, "You started it."

"You open-fired on agents for no reason!" she shot back.

"No reason? Are you frickin' kidding me?" he said incredulously, "Alright, so I guess if you woke up after you thought you were dead and saw a bunch of people with guns standing over ya, you wouldn't do nothing to defend yourself, right?"

Liz didn't answer, setting her jaw and looking away.

He scoffed, "Yeah, that's what I thought."

She let the silence hang for a moment, then once she'd regained her patience, turned back to him.

"Alright," she began, "I'll buy what you said about not being a raccoon. Would you mind telling me what you are, then?"

He offered her a sneer, "No thing like me 'cept me—one of a frickin' kind."

As tempted as she was to write it down, she didn't. In fact, she was a little surprised by the sudden malice in his voice.

"I see."

"No ya don't," he spat back almost instantly, "Back where I'm from, people have the sense enough to know a threat when they see one."

This time, Liz couldn't hold back a laugh, "Oh sure: three feet tall with a fluffy tail. Yeah, that's the look of a killer."

His expression was filled with utter loathing, and he completely turned his back on her, staring at the inner wall of the cell. She saw his mouth move as he mumbled curses under his breath, but it only made her enjoy his annoyance more. After a few minutes of bitter silence on his behalf, Liz decided to let up on the taunts for the time being and actually do her job.

"Okay, well if you don't want me to keep referring to you as "whiskers," can you tell me your name?"

"I could."

She sighed, "_Will_ you tell me your name?"

"Maybe."

He was beginning to agitate her again. She gritted her teeth, "_Will_ you _please _tell me your name?"

She could see him smirking, "Yeah: 89P13."

Liz stared at him blankly, "… What?"

"Well, you asked for my name, so I gave it to ya!" He cackled, "But I guess instead of watching your head start shorting out trying to get that down, I go by Rocket."

"Rocket," she repeated, "That's a little easier to remember." Then she scowled, "You know, I'm not an idiot."

"Oh contraire," he cut in, spinning around to face her again, "You made sure of it pretty quick—I mean, ya fell for the oldest trick in the book out there!"

"I did not—"

"You went, like, twenty feet before you realized I was going the other way!" He continued to laugh, "And did you even see how many times I almost shot you? If you'd have been an inch closer, you'd be swimming in you own—"

"Well if you're so smart, then why are you stuck here?" she interrupted, angry again.

Rocket stopped talking, then gave her an unamused look, "Keep a lid on it snippy, or I'll make a stop-over to pay you back for everything you've said, when I get outta here."

It was her turn to scoff, "When' you get out? Not gonna happen. SHIELD is the most technologically advanced organization on the face of the earth—there's no way you'll slip anything past us."

He raised an eyebrow skeptically, "What, this dump? Nah… a week tops, and I'm out."

Liz rolled her eyes, "Uh-huh, right." She jotted down what little she learned and tossed the file back onto the table, "Well, good luck with that, Rocket."

He rolled his eyes in suit, "_Miss_ Rachels."

She stopped in mid-step, her eyes flying back to him.

"It's Liz, actually."

"Whatever."

Liz resumed walking, arms still firmly crossed as she fumed.

"Well, doesn't _someone_ look happy?"

"Shut up, Wade."

_Thank you for reading! I hope you got some sort of enjoyment out of it. :P_


	3. Chapter 3

_Yet another wonderful enthralling chapter. _

Liz withheld a groan, pressing deep into the calf-stretch. The muscle presented little pain—her knee, on the other hand, was screaming for her to stop.

Bruce watched her carefully, "Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Not really," she replied stiffly, hoping it sounded convincing enough. Unable to see her face in full, Bruce took her word for it.

"Just one more minute, if you'd like," he told her, taking a moment to jot down notes. Liz let out a quick breath, determined to meet the time. Her outstretched leg began to tremble, but she fixed her gaze on the wall, ignoring it.

"You're shaking a little," he cautioned, "Take it easy."

"I'm fine," she exhaled, her head lowering in concentration. The pain intensified with the passing seconds, making her fingers dig savagely into the foam-paneled wall. Taking deep audible breaths, Liz pushed herself to endure for a little longer.

"Liz," Bruce repeated a little firmer, "I think you need to stop."

She ignored his advice and leaned in to deepen the stretch. A sharp stab suddenly reared up; before she could withdraw her weight, there was a snap.

Liz cried out, and she faltered instantly. Luckily, Bruce had seen it coming—he quickly discarded the notepad and caught her beneath the arms, supporting the entirety of her weight.

"It's alright," he assured, "I gotcha, just hold on a second." Grunting with effort, he struggled to gain a proper hold, "Alright, I'm gonna sit you down, so keep the knee straight. Can you do that?"

She could only nod, biting back tears.

Bruce meticulously lowered her, receiving many winces and yelps of pain in protest. But eventually he sat her against the wall, the now swelling knee flattened against the floor. He examined it carefully, gently feeling the area for the screws and wires that had been installed to hold the pieces of bone in place, then sat back.

"Nothing is broken," he informed, "You must have pulled the wiring too tight, again." When she didn't reply, his tone lowered, "If you knew this exercise was too much for you to handle, why didn't you say something? Pain isn't just an annoyance, Liz—it means something is wrong, and you need to back off."

"I said I was fine," she repeated shortly, her face beginning to burn in embarrassment.

He seemed ready to fire back, but instead closed his eyes, taking a slow breath.

"… I think that's enough for today," he eventually said, his voice descending in intensity, "Ice it tonight and use the elevator instead of the stairs." Bruce extended his hand to her, and she begrudgingly took it, avoiding his gaze. He pulled her to her feet, allowing her time to adjust her weight accordingly. She began to walk away, seemingly unaffected by the previous pain, and had almost escaped within a few gaping strides.

"And Liz," he added, prompting her to stop and turn. Bruce pondered what he'd say for a second, then simply advised, "You know, you're not weak. Or foolish. But trying to prove that is making you appear otherwise."

Her cheeks burned with more intensity, and she swiftly turned back around.

"Uh-huh," was all she offered in means of a response, and left the room before he could call her back.

Once she was sure Bruce wasn't following after her, Liz ducked behind a wall and let out a steady growl, gingerly massaging the sides of her knee in an attempt to quell the scorching. It made little difference, so she straightened up as best she could, planning to slip away to her room before anyone else saw her limping around.

Coincidentally, she was only a short walk away from the containment corridor where her furry little friend was held, and had been reported just as uncooperative as when he was captured.

She considered it for a second, then muttered, "Oh, why the hell not?"

The stairs greeted her with sadistic pride, forcing her to choose a less painful (but exceedingly more ridiculous) alternative: hopping down them. She nearly lost her balance on innumerable instances, and by the time she reached the bottom, was again breathing heavily.

"You know, I am really enjoying the view from here," Wade quipped, awaiting her as always.

"Shut up."

"What's wrong, hop-along?" he asked, "Problem with your leg?"

"Knee, actually," she bluntly corrected, already starting to pass him, "And I don't want to hear about the "superhuman healing" crap for the fifth time, so don't waste your breath."

He crossed his arms in a pouting manner, "Actually, I was gonna say something different, kill joy."

"I really don't want to hear it right now," she dismissed, walking out of ear-shot as quickly as her limp would allow.

"Aw come on!" he insisted, "It wasn't anything funny, I swear! Blondie!"

"Goodbye, Wade!" she called over her shoulder, not caring whether he heard her or not.

As she approached a bend in the hallway, the sound of several echoing voices became audible, and she paused. It sounded like laughter, and she could make out a few of the words said.

"… so adorable!" one said in a cooing tone.

"Personally, I think it'd look cuter as a hat," another offered. The group laughed hysterically at that one, and it didn't take long for Liz to figure out what was going on.

"Aw, what's the matter, fuzzy? We were all having fun until you stopped talking back!"

There was short pause, then the jeering laughter resumed.

"Oh nice job, Aaron, you made little squeaky angry!" the other, which Liz eventually deduced was Adam (one of the few jack-ass agents she'd had the pleasure of meeting), told his friend tauntingly.

"Hey, if it didn't want to deal with me, it shouldn't mouthed off in the first place!" Adam reasoned, then added, "We better get back to the security room—Fury's gonna kill us if he finds us out."

Their howling and snickering was heard far down the opposite hallway, vanishing only when the heavy metal door was shut behind them. Liz slowly turned the corner, approaching Rocket's cell.

At first, she didn't see anyone inside—but after a few more steps, spotted him facing one of the far corners of the room, shoulders hunched with his arms tightly entwined, and tail tucked into his lap.

She sighed, but decided to wait around for him to notice her.

It didn't take long, either; one of his ears perked up slightly, making him take an inconspicuous peek over his shoulder. A glare was already in place before he recognized her.

"Great, it's _you_ again," he said darkly, a hand running up and down his forearm, "What do you want now?"

She shrugged, patient with his shortness for the time, "Nothing. I was just passing through and thought I'd say hello."

He motioned after the earlier agents, "So were they."

Liz's eyes followed after it, then she gradually drew them back.

"… Besides that, has everyone been treating you okay?" she asked hesitantly.

Rocket met her with a cold laugh, "Oh yeah: imprisonment, daily demotivation, starving me out for information—I'm on easy street, now!"

He continued to vigorously rub his arm while he talked, so Liz looked at him questioningly.

"Are you alright?"

"Fan-frickin'-tastic."

Since he had no intention to cooperate, she glanced at the area herself. He made no attempt to hide the injury, apparently not giving a care anymore: there was a missing patch of fur on the inside of his elbow, the exposed skin a blistering red.

She cringed, "Ah… we weren't the ones who did that, were we?"

He snorted, "Nah, I only crashed a stinkin' shuttle—didn't exactly get off scot-free, neither." Rocket hid the wound once more, "They were too busy trying to get a needle in me that they didn't notice there was already plenty leaking outta my damn arm!"

A thought came to mind, and Liz considered it for a moment. She glanced around cautiously, and seeing they were alone, she looked back at Rocket.

"Hold that thought," she said lowly, "I'll be right back. Stay there."

He gave her a dumb look, "_You think I'd still be here if I was given a choice?!" _

She smirked a little, trying to keep her pace above a lagging limp as the headed back towards the stairs.

"Blondie!" Wade sat up quickly when he saw her, "Rachels! Really, I—"

"Not now, Wade," she cut him off, ascending the stairs and heading for the medicine wing. Internally, she groaned a tad when she realized how far she'd need to walk, but it was too late to return empty handed, now.

Liz scanned the area for anyone worth avoiding, then slipped inside an unlocked closet, leaving the door wide open to let in the light. The shelves were neatly arranged and labeled, containing both medicine and tools for community use. She'd visited the closet too many times to count, and as such made things quick. Left side, four down, third shelf from the top: bandages and wraps. After grabbing a small roll of gauze, she prepared to make her escape, but paused briefly at the sudden flaring of her knee. She glanced back at the shelves, tempted to snatch a few more bottles for herself—but decided she was pushing her luck as it was.

The return trip brought additional pain, enough so that she couldn't hide the limp anymore. Halfway down the stairs, she abandoned hopping for walking, then immediately regretted the choice.

"Damn that stupid raccoon," she grumbled as she reached the corridor, "Making me walk all the way to the other side of the helicarrier just because I feel sorry for him…"

"Rachels!"

"Wade, just don't," she shot down tiredly, no longer physically capable to put up with him. By the time she returned to Rocket's cell, she was ready to start crawling.

He gave her an odd look, "What the heck was that about?"

She held up the gauze, "I got you something."

His eyes narrowed a little, then panned up to her, "… Nah, I'm good."

"Come on," she insisted, "You really should—"

"I said I'm fine," he repeated harshly.

Liz glared at him fiercely, her patience quickly evaporating, "Fine. Don't take them." She shoved the roll into her pocket, "I really don't care."

_If you really didn't care you wouldn't have gotten them, moron, _a voice in her head taunted. She rolled her eyes and prepared to abandon the conversation, but a single step on her injured knee sent a shockwave up her body. She took a hissing breath, deciding not to continue any further until it no longer felt like she was walking on glass and smoldering coals.

With a huff, she stalked over to the back table, dragged out the chair, and sat erectly, impatiently awaiting the pain to pass.

"What's your problem?" Rocket questioned, sounding more intrusive than concerned.

"Knee injury," she answered shortly.

He scoffed, "Oh boo hoo… what, did you get a wittle bruise or something?"

Her temper was inflamed at his mocking tone, and her gaze snapped back to him.

"No," she began pridefully, "_Actually_, it was broken. That and a few ribs. And my arm."

Rocket actually went quiet for a second.

"… Jeez, staring to wish I hadn't asked," he muttered.

Liz smirked, proud she was able to catch him off guard, "Yeah. That's what happens when I get into a fight I have no chance of winning."

He smirked in suit, "Well, then either you're a pretty sorry fighter, or you make some bitchin' enemies. Or both."

"I beat you, didn't I?" she challenged wryly.

"Only with help!" he insisted, "And I wouldn't call that winning—I took too much of you along with me!"

She shrugged, "Then I guess it's both."

"Damn straight, it is."

Liz actually laughed a little, and caught him doing the same. Both saw the other looking, and instantly turned the action into a short cough, straightening up again.

"… By the way," she offered, "If those two guys—or anyone else—come over here and bug you like that again, I'd be more than happy to do the same to them, in return."

He shrugged, "Eh, let 'em have their fun for now. I've got something a little more suitable in mind."

She rolled her eyes, seeing it as an empty threat. The throbbing in her knee had diminished slightly, so she stood, letting out an audible breath.

"I'd better leave before Fury catches me here," she said, then asked, "Has he come down here and lectured you yet?"

Rocket thought for a second, "Eye patch trench coat bald guy?"

"That's the one."

"A couple times."

"Well, it won't be the last time," she warned. Before leaving, she paused, and once again withdrew the bandages. "Alright, look. I know you don't want them. But—" She opened the drop box to the cell, shoved the wad inside, and shut it swiftly, "—if you happen to want them later, they're here. Also, if anyone asks, I was not the one who gave them to you."

He chuckled under his breath, "I make no promises."

With that she left him, on far better terms than before.

"Liz."

She stopped, then sighed in exasperation.

"Yes, Wade?"

"You plan to listen to me, now?" he asked, sounding as flat as she did.

Liz nodded tolerantly, "Yes, Wade."

"Finally!" he cheered, "Alright, here's what you need to do—take these two fingers." He held up a hand, extending his main and middle finger together, "Got it?"

She followed in suit, "Sure."

"Ooh, fast learner, " he joked, "Okay, now feel behind your knee."

Again she obeyed, "Okay."

"You feel that real tight muscle in right there in the middle?"

"I do."

"Press into that."

Liz hesitantly followed his instructions, slowly sinking pressure into the muscle. For a moment, there was a dull pain—but it gave way to slow relief, and the tension around the front of her knee receded a small amount.

She glanced up in surprise, "That works way too well."

He chuckled in satisfaction, "Staring to wish you'd listened the first time I tried to tell ya?"

"Heck yes." She continued to massage the muscle, "Thanks, Wade."

"No problem blondie," he cackled, "Now you owe me one."

"I guess I do," she agreed, a little sarcastically.

"You could start by letting me out, you know," he offered innocently.

Liz giggled a little, "We'll see about that."

"So that's a maybe then?"

"Goodbye Wade."

"So a definite maybe?" She didn't answer. "Aw, come on, Liz!"

_Hope you enjoyed. ^-^_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hooray, a continuation. Longer than previous chapters, I believe. Oh, and before it escapes me: I think I mention Daniel Rand (Iron Fist) in here somewhere. He and Liz are pretty good friends. Don't exactly get along on all instances, but they're close. "Tight," if you will. Possible crush or something? Nah... what do you take me for? Predictable? Female? Don't be preposterous... _

_... Enjoy the chapter._

Her knee throbbed throughout the night, earning her only a few hours of sleep at a time. She was awoken early the next morning to find that her ice pack had burst, drenching half her sheets and dripping to form a shallow puddle on the floor below.

Liz groaned, flinging the sheets to the side with a wet "plop!" She dug a finger into the muscle behind her knee, finding it as taut as the previous day. Rather than tempt fate, she decided to actually wear the knee brace, that day.

She opened the bedside dresser, searched around, then pulled out the buried black wrap. Lying back on the bed, she lazily kicked off her sweatpants (remembering too late she couldn't do the same with the other leg) and slipped on the brace, mercilessly tightening the straps to their limits. Feeling around, she found a pair of jeans flung over the foot of the bed, and seeing them clean enough (meaning there weren't obvious stains and didn't reek of anything), threw them on. As she'd hoped, they hung loose enough to hide the brace. After another few minutes, hindered by her sleep deprived state, she'd managed to dress herself. Rubbing her eyes drowsily, she rose to her feet, staggered for a second, then headed for the door.

Yawning, she threw it open, then froze.

With the exception of a sparse few patches, the entirety of the hallway floor was covered in a sea of frothy white foam. Liz stood silently for a moment, then seeing as it wasn't a mirage caused by her fatigue, cautiously waded through the mess towards the main room on the floor.

The foam trail gradually diminished as she went, making her slip and nearly plummet on multiple occasions, and left a sticky residue on the lower half over her pants. She entered the control room to find an explosion of agents, all of which were cleaning vigorously.

Spotting Coulson amidst the crowd, she slipped past bustling agents and promptly tapped him on the shoulder.

"How come I never get invited to the parties?" she teased.

He didn't lighten, "One of the prisoners broke free and caused havoc last night—try to guess who it was."

She glanced around, finding nothing but white foam and an occasional burn or bullet trail across the wall.

"No clue," she replied blankly.

He gestured to the upper window, "Does this help?"

Liz suddenly became aware of another mob of agents, these with revving power tools. Outside, welded to the framework of the window with bent metal rods and equally masked with foam, were two agents. A grin crept onto her face when she recognized the whines of Adam and Aaron.

"Rocket," she breathed, "That son of a gun…"

"He's the one," Coulson confirmed, "We weren't alerted until a distress signal came from the watch tower—once reinforcements were sent, it took us an hour to track him down, again."

Upon further inspection, Liz discovered the two agents were mostly if not entirely naked. Fighting back additional laughter, she turned her attention back to Coulson, a hand over her mouth, "Uh-huh."

Coulson took a second to look her up and down, then questioned, "Was anything done to you?"

"No, why?"

He shrugged, "I assumed since the two of you are a little less than friendly acquaintances, he'd have gone looking for you, too."

"Well thanks for warning me ahead of time!" she said sarcastically, then added as an afterthought, "And he went after those two because they were being jerks and teasing him. I was too—only _I _made up for it. They didn't."

He nodded, "Ah." An agent supervising the cleanup called his name, so he glanced over.

"He's being kept in Level 2C now," Coulson informed her lowly, "Try to stay out of trouble today, please."

She scoffed, "Who, me? Pft, when have I _ever _caused trouble?"

After a quick expression to show he was being serious, Coulson walked away to meet with the agent.

Liz immediately turned and set off towards the containment wing, a little disappointed she'd miss out on Wade's annual commentary, this time around. The stairs were no kinder, the brace providing minimal support—in fact, the only thing it succeeded in doing was making her unable to bend the knee in any way, forcing her to descend in a peg-legged manner.

Almost instantly, she was hit with a wall of agents blocking off the first cell of the corridor. Inside, she could hear Fury's stern voice echoing around the room, and wasn't so sure she wanted to be caught there, anymore.

"No entrance beyond this point," one of the agents guarding the cell snapped.

Liz gave him an icy glare, "I was just passing through. I never said I can down here to see _you, _Roman."

"It's Mr. Santos to you, Rachels."

"Only if it's _Miss _Rachels to you," she shot back quickly.

Rocket glanced through the door at the commotion and soon saw her, "Hey."

"Hey," she called back offhandedly, "Now as I was saying—"

"Rachels."

She stopped talking, flinching at Fury's sharp tone.

"… Yes?" she uneagerly replied, trying to avoid Roman's satisfied sneer.

"Come in here."

Roman's sneer instantly vanished, and Liz picked it right up.

"Coming," she obeyed, pushing past Roman in his stunned state. She entered the cell, where Rocket was slouching, handcuffed to a chair—handcuffed meaning one cuff latched around his middle and the other cuffed the chair's back. He seemed to smirk when he saw her.

"Did'ja see my handiwork out there?" he asked, obviously proud of himself.

She nodded, "I did."

"And?"

Liz opened her mouth to answer, but upon remembering Fury was present, bit back her initial reply.

"It was… thorough." Her gaze shifted to Fury, assuring he wasn't glaring at her, yet.

Rocket chuckled, "That'll work."

"By the way," she asked, "What was all that white stuff?"

"Fire extinguisher foam," Fury answered flatly.

"Fire extinguisher foam?" she repeated in confusion, "Why did you use that?"

"It was the first thing I grabbed," Rocket replied shortly.

"A fire extinguisher?"

"I didn't know what it was! It had a muzzle and a trigger—I assumed it was a weapon!"

"What, you didn't _read _the label on it?!"

"I was a little busy avoiding guys shooting at me; reading it wasn't exactly my highest priority!" He crossed his arms and sat back, "Besides, I'm pretty satisfied with the damage I did."

Fury cleared his throat impatiently, so Liz turned her attention back to him.

"The prisoner escaped its cell around midnight last night," he informed, studying her carefully, "What were you doing at this time?"

"… I was trying and failing to sleep," she answered cautiously. When he didn't reply, she narrowed her eyes a little, "Why?"

When Fury still didn't answer, Rocket rolled his eyes.

"He's insinuatin' you helped me get out, airhead," he told her matter-of-factly.

"What?!" Liz exclaimed, "No! I didn't help him escape!"

"You seem to be fairly familiar with each other," Fury argued evenly.

"Well—I helped Coulson interrogate him a little!" she replied, "Half the stuff you know is stuff I found out, myself!"

"The two of you cooperate well, for your minimal interaction," he added, "That's enough cause for me to be suspicious."

"Cooperate? We don't cooperate!" she assured.

"Yeah—she's too dim-witted for me to get in a sentence without having to explain it," Rocket quipped.

"Shut it."

"Make me."

"Whiskers."

"Princess."

"Bastard!"

"Bitch!"

"_Enough."_

Liz instantly quieted, but Rocket wasn't quite so daunted.

"I'm tellin' ya, I didn't need any help getting out," Rocket repeated, "I mean, come on, it was child's play!"

Fury remained rooted, "Then would you mind telling me how you _did _get out?"

This made Rocket smile slyly, "… Nah, I'd rather not." He snickered to himself, "I'll tell ya one thing, though—that drop box there is faulty. If you really wanted to, you can open both slots at the same time…" He inconspicuously tapped a finger to his forearm, and Liz saw that he'd wrapped the gauze around the burn. It took a second, but she eventually understood what he was telling her—she swallowed. _Somehow, he'd used the bandages to get out. She actually had helped him escape. _She studied the floor, hoping Fury hadn't caught the sudden change in her face.

The director was too occupied with Rocket to notice her, "I'll only tell you this one more time—try to escape your cell again, succeed or fail, and you'll spend the rest of your days in solitary confinement."

_He's not kidding, _Liz mouthed to Rocket secretly.

He only scoffed, "Really? So like, I'd never have to look at any of ya ever again? And you'd leave me alone for good? Is that supposed to be a threat?"

"Can I go, too?" Liz added on almost involuntarily. Rocket snickered, Fury glared at her fiercely. He gestured towards the door, so Liz let her shoulders rise meekly, and she slowly headed out.

"Stay outta trouble, killer," she risked jesting over her shoulder.

"Yeah, I'll leave that to you," he replied, still laughing at her misfortune, "Heheh… someone's gonna get in _trouble_…"

The cell was immediately sealed behind them, and Fury stood before her, his arms crossed. She stared down at her feet, knowing she'd pushed her luck too far. Again.

"I don't appreciate you encouraging its misconduct," he finally told her.

"I'm not—" She bit her tongue, knowing she'd already defied him enough for the day, "—I know. I'm sorry." Liz intended for that to be the end of it, but couldn't help but blurt out in addition, "I just—I don't see why we can't just let him go. I mean, if he's causing all this trouble, is it even worth it?"

"We don't know if that's in our best interest, yet," he replied lowly.

She frowned, and trying to keep the sarcasm at a minimum, muttered, "When exactly will we "know" that, do you think?"

His glare returned at her tone, and he gave her a long acid look before simply stating, "As soon as _it _starts talking."

A slow, burning sensation slowly rose into her cheeks when she realized he'd been calling Rocket an "it" the entire time, but rather than correct him, Liz inhaled slowly, swallowing it down again. Fury didn't wait for her self-control to falter; he set off down the hallway, half the agents trailing after him. The rest remained positioned in front of the cell, armed heavily.

Liz scowled, shoving her hands in her pockets and stalking in the opposite direction of Fury.

"He's a _he_, you insensitive jerk," she growled coldly.

"_Twenty four… twenty five…" _Liz mouthed, keeping count of her reps. Her knuckles began to ache, so she switched to her palms, continuing the push-ups. After another thirty reps, she rolled over onto her back, instantly starting with sit ups.

She heard someone in the hallway, but didn't pause, knowing she'd find out who it was soon enough.

The footsteps stopped at the door, "Miss Rachels?"

"Hi Coulson," she breathed without looking back, her ribs already beginning to give her trouble.

"Why are you out of bed?"

"Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd do something productive," was her short reply, determined to make thirty reps before her ribs gave out completely.

"…Is everything all right?" he asked, sounding a little concerned.

"Yep."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Fine."

He was quiet for a second, "… Rand checked in on his mission, a few hours ago. He requested I tell you hello."

She smiled a little, but it faded instantly, "Cool."

Liz went down for her next rep, but when she rose again, Coulson was kneeling directly in front of her.

"What's the problem?" he asked again, this time without hesitation.

She only looked at him, trying to decide whether or not he was genuine. Finally she sighed, crossing a leg beneath herself to sit upright.

"It's… I'm starting to think keeping Rocket here isn't such a great idea," she admitted, trying to stay as vague as possible.

Coulson sat across from her in suit, "How so?"

"I just—I dunno, it just doesn't feel right," she replied, "He's only causing trouble because we're keeping him locked up here. We should just let him go—we don't have to deal with him, he doesn't have to deal with us. Win-win."

Coulson chuckled, "I see your point. I also expected you two would either hit it off instantly or constantly fight—how _are _you getting along, by the way?"

She shrugged, "Fine, I guess. We… kinda ganged up on Fury a few days back. He wasn't very happy with us."

He shook his head, "Liz… you shouldn't have encouraged him."

"Well, he had it coming! And it wasn't _all _my fault; Rocket did half the talking!" she found herself smirking again, "And what do you mean 'we'd hit it off or fight constantly'?"

"You're both very similar people," he explained simply.

Liz thought about it for a second, "… I don't see it."

Coulson grinned, "Well, I didn't _mean _physically. But now that you point it out—"

"Oh, shut up!" she elbowed him in the arm, laughing. After a minute of this, she quieted down and added, "Also… I appreciate that you call Rocket a "him."

"As opposed to calling him what?" he asked, confused.

"It," "the prisoner," or "the creature," she answered bitterly.

Coulson didn't comment for a while, letting the silence persist.

Eventually, he let out a slow breath, "… I understand where you're coming from. If it were up to me, I'd have let him leave, in the first place."

Liz perked up, "Then—"

"But it _isn't _up to me," he continued quickly, "It's up to Fury. And as agents, it's our place to follow his directions, whatever choice he makes."

"… Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Fury's not always right?" she suggested, withholding a scowl.

"Just because the consequence seems great doesn't make him wrong."

Liz frowned, "So if Fury told you guys to go slaughter a bunch of defenseless people, you'd listen to him just like that?"

"That's different."

"I don't think it is."

"Liz—listen," he began swiftly, but calmed, "… Listen. I know where you're coming from; you don't like taking orders, and most of the time you think you know better, I understand. But… you can't do everything yourself. Not everyone else is an idiot."

"I'm starting to think you, me and maybe Bruce are the only exceptions in that formula."

"Liz, that isn't my point—"

A siren began to screech from the hallway, and Coulson stood instantly.

"What did Fury lose this time?" Liz asked, putting no effort into the joke. Coulson had already run into the hall, conversing with another agent over an earpiece. He soon let out a breath, then said he'd be down momentarily.

He turned to Liz, looking irritated.

"Rocket is attempting an escape," he told her flatly.

Liz groaned, "Come on, again?!"

Coulson set off down the hall quickly, "I'm going to have to ask you to accompany me to the containment wing, please."

"What? Why, what did I do?" she protested, but followed close behind him, nonetheless.

"You've gotten along with him minimally well thus far," he replied shortly, "Therefore it looks like any interaction on our behalf is going to be done through you."

"… Oh, _lucky freaking me." _

While Coulson dashed through the corridors, Liz trailed behind a ways, hoping he didn't notice the painfully obvious limp she possessed. Only feet away from the containment level's doors however, he stopped dead in his tracks, giving her an opportunity to catch up.

"Are you sure?" Coulson questioned into the earpiece. After what seemed to be a confirmation, he sighed, "Alright. I'll be down in a moment—have the agents ready to deploy when I arrive." He frowned at Liz, "He's gone."

She smiled briefly before hiding it, "Ah. That _is_ a shame."

"Just—go back to your room, please," Coulson requested, taking out his card key, "Alert someone if you happen to see anything."

"I will," she assured, having caused him enough additional frustration for the night. She headed back to her sleeping quarters, passed by numerous agents being called to aid in the search for their escapee. Liz smirked, wondering how long it would take them this time.

She got to her door and was just about to punch in her access code—then noticed that the panel was crooked.

"What the…" Liz reached out and fiddled with the glass panel, which was only just hanging from a series of wires, most of which had been torn and reattached at various places in the metal backing. Confused, she entered her code, and the door granted her access.

"Your security code is too easy."

"_Gah!" _ Liz screeched and leapt back, crashing into the wall behind her. Rocket just sat on her bed, looking amused with himself.

"That terrifying, huh? Shoot, I wasn't even trying…"

"_What _are you doing here?!" she cut in.

"Uh, escaping?" he said simply, "What the hell do you think I'm doing, genius?"

"But why—" Liz shot up and checked the hall, "Why the—why are you in my room?! How are you in my room?!"

"I already told you; your password's about as complex as you are."

"But how—" She caught the insult, then glared at him. "Ha."

He met it with a smirk.

"I'm not joking—how did you even know which one was mine?"

"I don't have to tell you _everything," _he replied shortly.

"_I'm not messing around!" _she snapped, no longer in the mood for his snark, "What are you trying to do, exactly?!"

"As I said a couple frickin' seconds ago, I'm _trying _to get outta here!" he shot back, "Ducked in here for a second, thinking maybe you wouldn't have that big a problem with it!"

"I'm not—no, no this is a bad idea," she checked the hall again, which was still empty for the time, "If they catch you again, you're getting thrown in solitary!"

"Well I guess I better not get caught then, should I?" His voice was drenched in sarcasm and he climbed off her bed, "Thanks for your help, kid."

"Rocket I'm serious—" she tried to dissuade him.

"Yeah yeah, you said that already," he interrupted, passing her without thought.

"No—wait!" She bolted after him, "Rocket!"

He shushed her instantly, pausing at the corner to listen for approaching agents.

"Rocket, listen!" she snapped, getting tired of being ignored, "I'm only trying to—"

"Would ya shut up?" he hissed over his shoulder, "If you ain't gonna help me, go get your buddies and see if you can help 'em find me again—just quit bothering me!"

"Just listen—"

He darted around the corner instead.

Liz snarled, "That stubborn… freaking… _god damn raccoon!_" She spun on her heels and went straight back to her bedroom.

"Rachels."

She stopped dead in her tracks, halting a string of curses that came too close to breaching into speech. Slowly, she turned to glance back in the hallway, then forced a wide smile.

"May I help you?"

Fury of course didn't return the expression, "What are you doing up?"

"I was training," she answered shortly, "Coulson told me to come back here while you guys looked for Rocket."

He approached swiftly, staring her down. Determined, Liz stood her ground.

"Have you seen him?" he questioned bluntly.

Liz hesitated, "Seen him… when?"

"Recently."

She didn't answer immediately, careful not to let her eyes wander down the opposite hallway.

"Um…"

"Rachels_._"

Coulson's advice came to mind, making her doubt her initial plan. She bit her lip, considering it. He had a point, but… what if he was wrong? She couldn't just—

"_Now, Rachels."_

Liz took in a breath and nodded, "He went down that hall."

Fury stepped back, then gestured to his agents. They rushed down the hallway, guns drawn in preparation.

"Hey—Fury!" she called after him, "Don't—don't shoot him!"

"That will depend on its level of cooperation," he responded, not breaking stride.

Once again, Liz scowled.

"_His," _she muttered, louder this time.

Instead of returning to her room, she lingered around in the hall as much as her knee would allow. Every so often she heard the dull pangs of gunfire, making her halt temporarily. Eventually she lengthened the route of her incessant pacing, trying to catch a glimpse of the commotion.

Suddenly, the blaring alarm ceased, catching her off guard. She froze, stopping near the containment wing's doors.

Soon enough, a crowd of agents appeared, led by Fury. Liz swallowed—now would be a good time to get the hell out of there. Keeping her head down, Liz tried to sneak off down the hall, hoping to be out of earshot before anyone could call her back again.

It proved futile, as she was quickly spotted.

"You two-faced, back-stabbing, lying _traitor_!" Rocket yelled after her, sounding furious.

Liz flinched, but shoved her hands in her pockets and pressed on. She thought she heard him fire some additional curses after her, but was certain of the loud crackle of electricity that followed.

By now, guilt was staring to loom, so she picked up the pace. As she tried to enter her clearance code again, the screen fizzed, then after a wave of static, went black. Subsequently locking her out.

"Of course," she breathed, sitting against the wall, "Of course! "

With a sigh, she crossed a leg beneath her, knowing it would be a while before anyone else returned to their bunks. It was freezing in the hallway. Liz wrapped her arms around herself, having made the mistake of wearing a tank shirt. Because apparently every choice she'd made up to that point in the night had resulted in a mistake.

"Well…" Her head hit the wall behind her, "It looks like I screwed up."

"… Again."

_Well that one was long and more dialogue heavy than funny. Hope you enjoyed, anyway! Thanks for reading, I appreciated it!_

_Really. If I could portray believable sincerity, I would. :P_


End file.
